God Is In The House
by daflippnay
Summary: A strange cult captures Buffy and Spike on what was supposed to be a harmless recon mission. Spuffy. Time travel.
1. Prelude

Prelude

A/N and Disclaimer: Buffy does not belong to me. The title of the story is loosely based on Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds' _God Is In The House_. And nope, that doesn't belong to me either. Obviously. I'm just going to sulk in a corner now.

* * *

Buffy shivered as heavy rain pummeled her back, her side pressed to the slick marble of a mausoleum. She was cold and her limbs felt stiff, but evil didn't give pause just because scattered thunderstorms were on today's forecast.

Spike was directly behind her, covering her six and acting as her homing device. The rain was putting a damper on his superhuman hearing, but it was superhuman all the same. His slick fingers tapped Buffy on the shoulder, giving her the OK. She gave an imperceptible nod, moving forward, keeping her back pressed to the cold marble.

Something fishy had been going on near the vicinity of the wharves, no pun intended. Spike had noticed a couple of shady demons meeting in this particular area of the cemetery. They moved around from mausoleum to mausoleum as if it would make them sparse, but honestly, the last thing you could do to make yourself sparse was to hold meetings in a _cemetery_ of all places. Buffy rolled her eyes.

Buffy glanced at Spike with raised eyebrows before rounding the corner of the mausoleum, lingering near the entrance. He gave her a nod. An orange glow bounced over the rain-slicked walls and spilled gently outside. There was an odd warmth emitting from the crypt, and aside from the pounding rain, Buffy could hear a low hum, not unlike a generator or the lull of an air conditioner.

She saw shadows stretch out of the threshold of the crypt into the inky darkness of the cemetery, throwing three dark silhouettes across the green grass. Spike's fingers still rested on her shoulder and she felt them grip her gently, pulling her back. She eased backward, behind the safety of the slab of marble, but a wayward branch snapped under her feet and she found herself stiffening, her eyes trained on the three shadows stretching outward from the entrance that were suddenly stock still.

And then they were in motion, dispersing in two directions as far as Buffy could tell, and Spike was urgently tugging on her shoulder and then they were running, their footsteps sloshing loudly in the mud and slick grass. Buffy looked back to see one dark-shaped figure gaining on them, while the two remaining were a few feet back, scanning the perimeter of the mausoleum for more interlopers.

Buffy cursed as she saw the nearest figure make a dive for her, barely evading him as she veered to the right. Her lungs burned as she sucked in cold, damp air.

This wasn't supposed to happen. This had been a recon mission only, and it put a dent in their _nonexistent _plans now that they'd been found. Buffy had no idea what they were up against, and that in itself felt strange because they'd more often than not studied up on their current opponent before even stepping foot in their territory.

But when normal, everyday citizens of Sunnydale started disappearing, there had been no time.

Buffy groaned in frustration as a horde of dark-shaped figures flooded out in front of them, making a half-circle. There were at least twenty of them, and then the one who had tried to take a dive at her was standing behind them, the whites of his eyes glistening in the dark as he crossed his arms to his chest.

"Bouncer position all filled?" Buffy quipped weakly.

And then the lot of them extended their hands, bluish white energy whipping out like striking lightning, and all of it was aimed at the two bleach blondes standing amidst them.

The last thought that flitted through Buffy's mind as she crumpled to the ground was, '_Gaah! Overkill, much?'_


	2. Chapter 1

Buffy opened her eyes, a heavy weight descending upon her as she slowly came to her senses. She groaned and then lifted her head -- or at least she tried to. Her extremities were paralyzed and her head felt like it weighed a thousand tons. She was able to move her eyes without difficulty, though seeing anything beyond the tall ceiling and the groinings of the candlelit walls surrounding her didn't prove to be very helpful.

She would have jumped in startled surprise when a pale face hovered over hers, except she was in a bit of a predicament seeing how she couldn't _move_. She recognized the man as one of the several dark-shaped figures that had cornered her what felt like eons ago, judging from his black ensemble.

A corner of his mouth raised into a stiff smile. "So you are the Slayer," he said, his voice heavy and thick with an accent Buffy couldn't identify. "I am sorry for the discomfort you are no doubt experiencing. We do not need the body. We only need the mind."

Buffy's eyes widened, and it scared her to think about how much effort had been needed to do such a normally simple movement. He stepped out of her line of sight. But as quickly as he had gone, he returned, holding something that glittered in the candlelight. He brought it closer and Buffy saw that it was a sort of scepter that was a little over a foot and a half long, made out of a dark metal. The end of the rod had a strange ornament of some kind, but Buffy didn't get a chance to observe it further because the man above her had activated it somehow, and the sparks of energy surrounding its head were not unlike the blue-white lightning they'd used to paralyze her.

And then the tip of the staff was being pressed against Buffy's temple, and for a person who was paralyzed, she definitely felt a world of pain.

* * *

Buffy opened her eyes, blinking as the piercing sunlight dilated them. The air was cold and damp, but she felt numb and disoriented. She stared up at the stone ceiling blankly, her mind unable to recollect anything that had happened after she and Spike had been cornered by the new baddies in town.

It took her a moment of staring at the ceiling to realize that things weren't quite right. For one, the ceiling above her head was definitely not the marble slab of the mausoleum. Rather, it was a low ceiling made of gray, coarse stone. Her eyes trailed down from the ceiling to the walls connected to them, finding again coarse stone in lieu of marble.

Panic seized her. She sat up with a start, her wide eyes taking in everything and nothing.

The stone room was barren except for the fur blanket sprawled underneath her, and a wooden bucket in the corner that was filled halfway with what she at least thought to be water. She didn't particularly feel like testing out that theory, though.

Buffy was on her feet, tripping over the coarse fabric that she was swathed in. At first she thought it was another blanket, but the sleeves told her otherwise as she took a look at her hands. She ran her hands over the front of the fabric. It seemed to be a thick robe of sorts, with an attached hood made from the same material. There were a pair of brown leather sandals by the fur blanket, and she strapped them on with some difficulty. It disturbed her to find how well they fit her, and how lived-in they felt.

Buffy frowned as she heard the door to this stone room creak open, watching as sunlight spilled inside.

"Oh, thank God you're awake," a girl that appeared to be her age said, breathing a sigh of relief. "You hit your head pretty hard, Elizabeth. Are you alright?"

Buffy's frown deepened. "Who are you?" she asked warily, taking a cautious step back.

The girl's eyes widened and she found herself taking a step back herself, but more out of astonishment than caution. Her brows crunched together as she worried her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What is the meaning of this, Elizabeth?" she whispered urgently.

"My name isn't Elizabeth," Buffy said with a frown of her own. She stepped forward slowly. "I'm Buffy."

The other girl shook her head, her eyes wide with incredulity. She came forward and snatched Buffy's hand. "Please, come with me."

Buffy tried to snatch her hand back. "Excuse me," she huffed, immediately feeling a migraine spearing through her skull. "I don't even know who you are."

The girl's features softened, but her eyes burned. "You really do not know," she said, her voice hushed.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said, biting her lip.

She bit her lower lip when it started to tremble. "Come. We will see Abbot Peter. Perhaps he will get the apothecary here if he deems it necessary."

"Apothecary?" she asked, staring blankly at the other girl.

"Just trust me as you have before, Elizabeth. Please." She looked torn.

"I'm sorry," Buffy reiterated softly. "I don't even know who you are."

She shook her head. "There is no time to explain." Her hand tightened on Buffy's. "But please trust me."

Buffy, hardly mollified, remained quiet, but nodded for the other girl's sake. She remained silent as she was ushered outside into the bright morning, her disoriented feet stumbling over the uneven ground. It appeared that they were in a mountainous area; trees were sparse, and those that could be found were small in frame and were nearly bare.

"What is your name?" Buffy asked after a moment.

The girl tensed, looking at her askance. "Bassa," she said wearily.

"How do we know one another, Bassa?"

"You are my sister in Christ," she said in low tones, but her voice cracked all the same.

"In Christ," Buffy murmured. If she hadn't been disoriented before, she really was now. What strange world had she woken up in? "I don't understand," she said, at a loss.

"Abbot Peter will help you," Bassa said, though she did not sound convinced. She absently patted Buffy's hand as she led them further down the rocky slope.

In the distance, Buffy could see a three-sided villa that sprawled outward, surrounding a courtyard planted with underdeveloped mustard trees that lined the inner perimeter. Bassa led her under the low outer archways that skirted the building until they finally arrived at a tall vestibule. They stood underneath the arch, two great stone pillars flanking them.

"Come," Bassa murmured, tugging her gently by the crook of her arm and leading her further into the anteroom.

The stone room wasn't an enclosed space, and Buffy found herself shivering as the cold morning drafts from outside blew in past the pillars. Her ears were aching as the cold pressed in on them.

Bassa led her down the stone corridors, stopping in front of one of numerous wooden doors. She bit her lip as she knocked, the sound reverberating through the halls.

"Enter," a man's voice said from inside. "Bassa," he said with an amicable smile as Buffy's companion pushed open the heavy door.

"Abbot Peter," she murmured, nodding. "I bring grave news. Elizabeth has lost her memory."

The Abbot frowned, walking up to them and looking into Buffy's face as if noticing her for the first time. "How has this happened?"

"She… was tending to the field with me earlier this morning," Bassa explained. "We were returning back to the monastery and were passing through the square when someone living on one of the upper levels disposed of their wastes. A broken cooking pot hit Elizabeth's head and she collapsed. A great deal of time passed before she woke up, remembering nothing..."

Abbot Peter was silent for a long moment. "It is strange," he said softly.

"What is strange?" Bassa asked, raising her eyebrows at him curiously.

"We seem to be rather accident-prone this morning. Brother William fell ill in the public baths and hit his head. He has not yet awoken."

Buffy's eyes widened in recognition. "Spike," she breathed without thinking.

Bassa and Abbot Peter directed their gazes on her inquiringly.

"I, um, mean… Brother William," she corrected herself lamely. "Is he alright?"

"He appears to be in a deep sleep," the Abbot replied, casting a strange look at her. "But he is breathing normally."

Buffy nodded quickly, her eyes falling closed as relief flooded her.

And then she opened them with a stunned gasp, calling attention to herself once again. Abbot Peter looked curious, but Bassa had been continuously worrying since she'd found her awake back in that stone room.

Whatever -- wherever -- this world was, Spike had been deposited into it along with her. The sense of dread that had filled her upon waking was still there, but it had lulled down to a dull ache. It appeared that he was suffering the same side effects as she was -- perhaps some kind of preternatural jet lag.

"_But he is breathing normally."_

And apparently, Spike was _alive_.


	3. Chapter 2

"You don't remember anything at all, Elizabeth?" Abbot Peter asked.

Bassa gave him a sheepish smile when Buffy didn't answer. She gently placed a hand on the other girl's shoulder. "Elizabeth," she prompted.

Buffy blinked. "What? Oh." She shot the Abbot a sheepish smile of her own. "Uh, no. Well, what I remember is probably not what you want to hear."

The Abbot frowned. "Why do you say this?"

"I'm not who you think I am," Buffy said, looking him dead in the eye. At their silence, she said, "Elizabeth. That isn't my name."

"What is the name you called yourself before?" Bassa asked, looking more and more uncomfortable with every second that passed.

"Buffy," the petite blonde said, pursing her lips.

"Buffy," Abbot Peter reiterated, as if testing the sound on his tongue. "What is it that you… remember?"

"I remember being caught by a bunch of… men… dressed in black. They paralyzed me and used some sort of scepter on me. And then I woke up in a stone room."

Bassa and Abbot Peter looked baffled.

"Eliza--Buffy… I will call the apothecary right away. He might be able to help you," the Abbot said.

"You don't believe me," Buffy deadpanned.

"I-It's not that we don't believe you… Buffy… We just want to help you," Bassa argued.

"Can I see Brother William?" she asked, startled by how distressed she sounded.

They glanced at each other in surprise before directing their uncertain looks back onto the small blonde.

"Buffy, why don't you sit down? I'll call the apothecary for you. You can see Brother William after," Abbot Peter said quietly.

Buffy silently took a seat in front of his desk, which looked like a podium that had been filed down to waist-height. She was terribly disconcerted, but even through the haze and the panic, she knew that throwing a Slayer-type tantrum probably wouldn't work here. She was almost completely sure that her powers had been sapped away, too.

"_We do not need the body. We only need the mind."_

Buffy straightened in her seat, eyes wide. She wasn't certain of what that had meant, but there was the possibility that she hadn't bodily left… well… her body. If she had been sent here, wouldn't there have to be someone on the other side to direct her to where she was supposed to go?

Or was this just a complete mindfuck?

She sighed and sagged into her seat, listening and watching as Bassa and Abbot Peter talked in what they probably thought were quiet tones. Bassa was introducing the idea of letting her see 'Brother William,' but it was obvious that the Abbot thought she'd contaminate him or something. She rolled her eyes. Wherever they'd ended up, it sure was a backwater place…

It was a while before the apothecary came -- Buffy had no real sense of time in this place, but it probably had to have been an hour or less. He was an old man with a long beard, swathed in an off-white robe and carrying a large leather satchel. She was afraid of what he might do because wherever she'd landed in was a very backwards town. Hopefully he didn't see fit to exorcise her.

"Hello, Elizabeth," the apothecary greeted her, taking a seat in front of her. He placed his satchel down on top of Abbot Peter's podium.

"I'm not Elizabeth," Buffy said curtly.

"So I've heard," he replied, opening his bag and digging inside.

"She said that she saw black people, Arsenio," Bassa supplied helpfully.

Buffy frowned. "I didn't see black people--Oh. Well. They were dressed in black, if you want to get technical."

Arsenio, the apothecary, nodded gravely. "Thank you, Bassa."

"Can I please see Brother William?" Buffy nearly shrieked, her voice strained.

"It is okay, Elizabeth," Bassa said soothingly, petting Buffy's hair. "Arsenio has been a friend of yours for a very long time. He will help you regain your memories."

"It is true," Arsenio said. "You can trust in me. I know of someone whom you can see. A counselor of sorts."

Buffy's eyes widened. "I am _not_ crazy."

"You are sick, Elizabeth," the apothecary said softly. "Please."

Buffy swallowed hard, tears springing to her eyes as frustration flooded her. Perhaps if she could compromise… "I'll go to your counselor if you let me see Spi--Brother William."

Bassa, Arsenio, and Abbot Peter glanced at one another, almost in trepidation.

The Abbot glanced at Arsenio, who nodded. "Alright," he said tightly. "I will bring you to him."

They all stood simultaneously, heading outside the Abbot's cramped office and leading Buffy deeper into the pillared building. They reached two wooden double doors that led outside -- the opposite side of the building, she reckoned, because there was no sign of the courtyard in these parts.

Buffy's deductions were correct; they led her down a steep hill where another stone building sat.

"Where are we?" Buffy asked.

Bassa swallowed nervously, and did not look like she wanted to grant her much information. But she did. "We are approaching the men's monastery. We do not share living quarters or even communities with the men."

Buffy accepted her answer silently, and remained silent as she was taken into what looked to be a stone apartment building similar to the one that she had found herself in upon waking. They led her inside, walking down the narrow corridor of the ground floor. There was a room to their left that had a red and orange-colored sheet in place of a door, and Arsenio moved it aside, revealing a supine Spike flanked by a young man dabbing his forehead with a wet cloth.

"Excuse us, boy," Abbot Peter said, and the young man nodded, standing and leaving the room.

Buffy bit her lower lip as she knelt beside Spike's still body.

Except he wasn't really still. Her eyes widened as they settled on his bare chest, rising and falling slowly and deeply. She touched the middle of his chest before she could stop herself, feeling the warmth of his body heat radiating through her fingertips. She then placed her hand on his bicep and gave it a light squeeze, her heartbeat quickening when he began to stir.

"Brother William?" she murmured, feeling stupid.

His eyelids fluttered, but he did not answer.

"Spike," she said, her voice stronger and more assertive this time.

His eyes snapped open, a look of awe filling his face. He frowned at her. "I'm… I'm not dreaming."

Buffy laughed, though it was choked with tears. "I don't think we can both be delusional at the same time," she said softly. "You're…" she trailed off, taking in the healthy flush of his cheeks, the warmness of the skin of his arm.

"Alive," he whispered in wonder. "Couldn't believe it myself," he chuckled. "'Course, there were a few setbacks…"

"Like what?" Buffy asked, frowning.

"Well, the need to relieve myself, for one. And my being human again kinda robbed me of my super-senses. I'm back to my blind-as-a-bat self." He sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Buffy gaped. "You can't see?"

"Oh, I can. Just not very far."

"Oh." Then she burst into tears.

"Buffy?" Spike said, sitting up and tugging her into his arms. "What's wrong, love?"

"Th-They think I'm cr-crazy and I think they want to send me off to some backwards sh-shrink and--"

"Whoa, whoa-- What?"

Buffy wiped her eyes with the scratchy fabric of her robe, glancing behind her at the three faces who watched them keenly from behind the duo-colored sheet. "Spike," she whispered, "do you even know where we are?" Her voice cracked.

"I just woke up," he protested lightly. "I haven't the bloodiest idea."

"I think those guys sent us back in time or something, or at least to some backwater dimension."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Spike, we're in what looks like a gender-segregated monastery."

He blinked.

"We're monks," she said, her voice monotone.


	4. Chapter 3

"Elizabeth?" Arsenio said gently.

Buffy froze, and Spike immediately reacted. He tightened his arm around her waist and cast a predatory glance at the three onlookers.

"Brother William," Abbot Peter said, approaching them as if approaching caged animals. "Elizabeth is very ill. Please, for her well-being…"

Spike clenched his jaw, looking from Buffy's strained features to the three people slowly inching into the room. "I don't know who you people are, but you will bloody well stay away from us!" he snarled.

They froze at that. They exchanged worried looks.

"Abbot Peter, perhaps it is necessary to contact the Bishop…" Arsenio said softly.

The Abbot nodded distractedly. "And what will become of them?"

"I will fetch someone to take care of them. Cases like theirs aren't as unlikely as you may think. It will just take some time to cure them."

Bassa frowned. "But don't you find it odd how--"

"Bassa!" Arsenio hissed. The young woman colored. "That is not to be disclosed. That kind of information may prove to be harmful."

Just because Spike wasn't a vampire anymore didn't mean he was no longer alert. "What information aren't you disclosing?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"Brother William," the Abbot said nervously, kneeling down in front of him. "Have you lost your memory as well?"

"I am not the bloke you're lookin' for, Abby," Spike said curtly. "Now let Buffy and I go and we won't cause any ruckus, you hear?"

Abbott Peter shook his head, rising to his feet and backing away. "I am sorry," he said. "I cannot let you go at this time. But perhaps if you tell me more of your predicament, we might be able to help you."

Spike chanced a glance at Buffy, who glanced back at him with pursed lips. He met the Abbot's gaze again, looking a bit hopeful. "Uh, any chance we could discuss this over a meal?"

He nodded, giving them a slight smile. "Now that is something that can be arranged."

* * *

Bassa wrung her hands as she watched Buffy and Spike fill their mouths with day old bread and freshly roasted fish. "So it is true that you remember nothing?" she asked softly.

Buffy lowered the piece of bread from her mouth, giving her a sympathetic look. "I-I'm sorry… Bassa…"

She shook her head. "No, you have nothing to be sorry for. It cannot be helped. But we do… I do wish to help you."

"Bassa, Spike and I need to get out of here," Buffy said, her voice low. "This isn't where we belong, and we don't know how we got here. Well, we do, but… we don't. Uh."

Spike chuckled wryly. "What she means is she doesn't know the technique of it."

The other girl frowned. "Technique?"

He nodded, biting into a piece of fish. He grimaced and plucked out a small bone from between his teeth. "Fish is not the most convenient thing to eat when you're starving," he muttered under his breath. "It was a kind of ritual."

"Ritual? Like prayer?"

Spike shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. Except this prayer didn't produce miracles."

"Bassa, can you tell us about our… selves? Our other selves," Buffy said.

The petite girl bit her lip. "I am not sure if I should."

"Why is that?" she asked, frowning.

"It is odd, really," Bassa said hesitantly, staring at her hands. She was quiet for a moment, and Buffy and Spike resumed eating. "I guess it would not be too harmful to tell you some things if you truly aren't… Sister Elizabeth and Brother William. Buffy, before you… arrived… Sister Elizabeth was one of the few preparing to become an Abbess."

"An Abbess?" Buffy asked, not understanding.

"Like Abbot Peter," Spike explained, sipping a cup of water. He grimaced at its musky taste.

"Yes," Bassa said with an affirmative nod. "It is… it was very important to Sister Elizabeth. She's young, but very devoted."

"Are you… Are you afraid that you won't see Sister Elizabeth again, Bassa?" Buffy asked softly.

Bassa hung her head. "It does worry me."

"I'll do my best to get out of your hair as soon as I can. Well, Sister Elizabeth's hair." Buffy smiled.

Bassa smiled back, but they could tell that it wasn't genuine. "Sister Elizabeth and Brother William know each other quite well, actually."

Buffy and Spike sat up at that, exchanging shocked glances.

"I don't know much about their personal lives," Bassa said. "They don't talk about it much. But it was obvious that they were refugees. They probably came from Christian families that were being persecuted by Diocletian. They were hungry for spiritual guidance, and so they placed all their faith in this place. I wonder if it was hard, leaving behind their own lives."

"And… they knew each other how?" Buffy asked.

"I think Sister Elizabeth was betrothed to Brother William," Bassa said. "I think they did not have a choice, though, because Sister Elizabeth at the time was already with child. Brother William was very protective of them both. They had become targets of both Diocletian and the church."

Buffy's eyes were wide. "And what about the child?"

"Probably oblation, love," Spike said quietly.

Bassa gave another affirmative nod. "Yes. Sometimes parents must give up their children when there is too great a risk, or too little resources. It is sadly a commonplace occurrence, especially in the monasteries."

"The child is here?" Buffy asked, her voice hushed.

"Another monastery," Bassa replied. "It is not far. But I don't think it would be wise if you mean to visit him."

"Why?" she couldn't help but ask.

"I don't think he would know us," Spike said, glancing at Buffy.

"He would not," Bassa said softly, touching her hand.

Buffy was quiet throughout the rest of their meal.

When they finished, Bassa brought them back to the room where Spike had been held. Arsenio was there with another gray-bearded man who was a few inches shorter and stouter than he.

Buffy scratched her side through the material of her robe. "These clothes are really itchy."

"Sister Elizabeth, Brother William," Arsenio greeted them with an inclination of his head. "This is a good friend of mine and counselor, Luke. He is from the local infirmary and he might be able to help you."

"We don't need any help, you git," Spike ground out.

"Please, humor them," Bassa said, touching his arm. She blushed when he violently shrugged her away. "We don't want any negative attention brought to the monastery. We are already the target of church hierarchies."

"Humor them?" Spike snarled. "And what's in it for me, huh? Clinically induced insanity? More musty water that's probably been bathed in hundreds of times before it's even reached my lips?"

Beside him, Buffy looked sick. "I think I could've done without that little tidbit of information."

"Sorry, luv."

Beside Arsenio, the counselor looked impatient. "May I speak with them privately?" he asked tersely.

"By all means," the apothecary said hurriedly, taking Bassa by the arm and steering her out of the room.

Luke waited until their footsteps faded down the corridor before training his gaze on the two bleach blondes. "You must come with me," he hissed, his voice lowered and his eyes narrowed.

"I think the answer is a resounding 'no,'" Buffy replied perkily.

The counselor's eyes darkened. "Come with me if you want to go home."

The smile slipped off the Slayer's face. "What?" she demanded.

"I am the one who summoned you here along with other denizens of Sunnydale. It appears that the others have been of no help. Drastic times called for drastic measures."

"Drastic times?" Buffy asked the same time Spike inquired, "Drastic measures?"

Spike raised his eyebrows at her in amusement. "Together, we ask very important questions."

Luke's face had turned red and Buffy and Spike honestly wouldn't've minded if he decided to detonate the time bomb in his head. "I cannot discuss this here. You must come with me."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Is it a far walk? Because these sandals are _really _biting into my feet."

* * *

It was a far walk, and the sun beat down on them from above, making Spike flinch and sneeze. The terrain was sandy and pebbly and uneven and added on to Buffy's escalating irritation and discomfort. The wool cloaking her was rough and itchy against her perspiration-slick skin, and her damp hair stuck to the sides of her face. Spike walked two steps behind her, his hand in a bag of hazelnuts that he crunched happily on.

Buffy sighed. "Give me some of that," she said, digging her hand into the cloth sack. Her hand grazed Spike's and she grabbed that instead, a look of awe on her features at the warmth it emanated. She swiftly turned her head to Luke with Spike's hand still in hers. "Why is he human?" she asked.

"He isn't," the counselor said with a sidelong look.

"Explain," Buffy said as Spike dug inside the sack for a handful of hazelnuts and spilled them into her waiting hand.

"Your minds were transported here, not your bodies. You are inhabiting hosts, so to speak."

"Which brings us to the question of 'Why are we here?' I think we're safely out of earshot now," Spike said.

"As you might know from your history lessons back in the twenty-first century, the time you are in now was surrounded by religious and political unrest."

Buffy groaned around a mouthful of hazelnut. "And here comes the history lesson."

"Not quite," Luke said in a lilting tone, a smirk upturning his lips. "I'd rather say you were making history."

"Huh?" Buffy asked unintelligibly.

"Separation of church and state does not exist yet," the counselor explained. "We're thinking of going a couple steps ahead and eradicating the church part altogether."

"What are you saying?" Spike asked, narrowing his eyes.

"God is in the house and we wish He would come out," Luke said, sounding miffed. "And who better to extricate Him than a vampire and Slayer who live in a secular world?"

"Are you serious?" Buffy asked, gawking at him. "I'll have you know that my eyes were glazed over during my entire semester of political science and philosophy classes. I'm more with the practical and less with the theoretical."

"Precisely," Luke beamed.

"What is this? Some kind of mystical computer game? A time lord sport?" Spike said, sounding every bit incredulous.

"No, and no," he replied, sounding every bit like he was talking about the weather. "This is very real."

"This is unreal!" Buffy said. "Are you saying that we're changing history right now? That when I go home, I might as well be entering an alternate dimension?"

"Oh, but it'd be for the better," Luke said cheerfully. "You are changing much just by being here, along with the other denizens of Sunnydale."

"What have you been putting them up to?" Spike asked.

"Oh, just fun things. Rioting and pillaging. Revolutions wouldn't be revolutions without them. But they got a little out of hand. They were to remain unharmed for their safe arrival back, but I sort of… Well, I lost them."

"Lost them?" Buffy said, her voice low and dangerous.

"Well, a small few of them went a little mad," Luke said, wringing the sleeves of his robe nervously. "Some of the hosts housing them were stronger than we expected and schizophrenic-like tendencies began to arise. A lot of them were killed by the knights protecting the monasteries. Things have, uh, really gotten out of hand."

"I'll say," Buffy said. "And I think now is the time that I take everything out of your hands," she quipped, her hand grasping his wrist and squeezing the bones there painfully. He cried out in pain and she tugged him towards her, kicking him behind his knees so that he folded to the ground. "You're taking Spike and I home, and I'm going to put an end to your crazy cult."

Luke forced out a laugh as he braced himself on his arms, shakily coming to his feet. "Not quite sure Sunnydale will give you a warm welcome, Slayer. And I am but one man, and though physically fit I might not be, there are others like me, a mob of them, and you without your supernatural powers cannot squash them. You go home and you may find your Sunnydale in flames. Who knows what your mere presence here has done to the future? You have done more damage than stepping on a butterfly. Either way, you leave or you stay, you lose."

Spike stomped on his head, hard enough for him to bang his teeth on the hard ground but not hard enough to render him unconscious. Luke howled in pain. "You're really annoying me, mate."


End file.
